


The Future Depends

by fireweed15



Series: The Future Depends [2]
Category: Class of the Titans
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Trans Male Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireweed15/pseuds/fireweed15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all the ups and downs, he knew that he would never trade this for an easier path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to The Right Name; Trans!Jay / heavy notes of gender dysphoria; TW: rape mention; written for Round 5 of the Hurt / Comfort Bingo on LiveJournal – Wild Card: Difficult / Unexpected Pregnancy

After a year of semi frequent appearances, Lieutenant Neil Cole had come to be expected at this place, and the procedure was more or less the same—come inside, remove his cap and ask for Jay's company. A girl would go to get Jay, and Jay would come to meet him, smiling and pleasant, and escort him back to his room.   
  
A year allowed Neil a sort of familiarity with some of the girls, but it allowed him a curious sort of intimacy with Jay. There was always the reminder of what Jay did for a living, and occasionally he'd indulge—Jay's oral was always as phenomenal as it had been the first day, and his hands were just as talented—but he'd yet to actually bed him, per the latter's request.   
  
It was a strange request, and Neil admitted that he had trouble understanding it, even with Jay's patient, and yet some how terribly panicked, explanations of his long-standing disagreement with his own body, and how he hated who he was more than what he did. Somehow, Neil couldn't bring himself to break Jay in that way, and he found himself swearing that he'd never have sex with Jay, and agreeing to the mumbled request that he call him  _Jay_ , or  _he_.  
  
Perhaps that was the reason Jay never tried to charge him, or grossly undercharged him when he insisted. If he protested Neil's overpayments when he left, he never said anything about it.   
  
Now, though, when he asked for Jay, the girl to whom he had spoken simply looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant—she can't see anyone."  
  
Neil bit back the desire to correct her and say he. "Why?"   
  
"She can't see anyone," the girl repeated. "She's not feeling well."   
  
" _I_  would like to see Jay, please," Neil insisted, his tone becoming more like the one he used with a lower-ranking soldier.   
  
As the girl stumbled over her words, seemingly trying to find something to say without offending him, Neil looked past her in time to see Jay stepping out from what he assumed was a kitchen. He was dressed far more simply than was typical for him—the colors of his blouse and skirt were dark, and he wore no jewelry, the look Neil recognized as his "day clothes"—and he held a stoneware mug between his hands. "Jay," Neil called, breezing past everyone else to join him.   
  
Jay looked up from his shoes and seemed genuinely surprised to see Neil in front of him. "I thought you were going to the capital," he said quietly, "for at least two weeks—has it been that long already?"   
  
Neil nodded, reaching up to tuck a wisp of Jay's short hair behind his ear. "What's this about you not feeling well? Are you alright?"   
  
The question, gentle as it was, looked as though it almost pained Jay, and he closed his eyes for several moments. Finally, he took Neil's hand. "Come with me," he said simply, pulling him toward the stairs.   
  
Dozens of questions came to Neil's mind, but he didn't ask them—something in Jay's purposeful stride stilled his tongue, and he didn't speak until he was standing in the middle of Jay's room. As Jay accepted his jacket and cap, it became more apparent that something was amiss—the bed was unmade, and Jay's eyes, when they weren’t downcast, were sorrowful. "The girls said you're sick," Neil started.   
  
Jay paused as he set the mug aside to hang up the jacket and cap. "Hello to you, too, Neil," he said levelly.   
  
"Jay, what's wrong?" Neil pressed.   
  
"It's nothing," Jay replied easily, joining Neil.   
  
"I doesn't seem like nothing," the latter replied. In the privacy of Jay's small room, he could see all the clearer how pale he seemed, and when he took Jay's hands in his, he could feel them trembling. "Is everything okay?"   
  
Jay met his eyes, and whatever walls he'd built up seemed to collapse as his eyes welled up with tears. He threw his arms around Neil's neck and buried his face in his chest, his tears instantly soaking the cotton of his shirt. "No," he gasped. "Nothing's okay."   
  
Neil stumbled under his weight, but held him and allowed him to weep—not that it did anything to assuage his worries. "What's wrong?"   
  
Jay shook his head as Neil guided him to the foot of the bed and gently forced him to sit. "Do you need anything?" Neil asked, gently gripping Jay by the shoulders. "Should I send for a doctor?"   
  
Jay shook his head again, wrapping his arms around himself. "I saw a doctor today," he mumbled.   
  
"What did he say?" Neil sat next to him and looped an arm around Jay's shoulders. "You'll live to see tomorrow, right?"  
  
Jay chuckled without humor. "It doesn't feel that way," he muttered, wiping his eyes.   
  
"What's going on?" the lieutenant asked. "I'm worried."   
  
The words made Jay weep all the more, and finally he managed to compose himself long enough to gasp—"I'm pregnant."   
  
Against his better judgment, Neil knew his jaw was hanging open. "…What?"   
  
When Jay looked at him, it was with pained eyes. "It happened while you were away." He scrubbed his hands through his hair.   
  
"Do you…" Neil paused to lick his lips. This was a harder question to verbalize than it was to think. "Do know whose…?"   
  
Jay nodded, swiping at his eyes once more. "He was some soldier," he admitted, "from Scandinavia somewhere. He was… very insistent."   
  
Something about the wording sent chills down Neil's spine. "You were raped?" he murmured.   
  
Jay offered him a sad smile. "It's all rape to me," he admitted, "more or less."    
  
Neil nodded slowly in reply, wondering if he felt that way about the things he had done with him. "Does anyone else know?" he asked, his eyes flicking down to Jay's belly. He looked no different than normal…   
  
Jay noticed his gaze and wrapped his arms around his torso. "The madam knows," he mumbled in reply.   
  
"What did she say?" Neil awkwardly rubbed Jay's arm, trying to offer him some measure of comfort.   
  
"She's furious," Jay replied simply. "She…" He looked over at the abandoned mug on the table. "She gave me that."   
  
"Not for the sickness?" Neil leaned down to try to look Jay in the eye. " _Have_  you been sick?"   
  
"A little." Jay shrugged. "It's supposed to… force a miscarriage."   
  
The simple, honest words made the skin on the back of Neil's neck prickle. "Are you going to?" He found that if Jay said yes, he wouldn't have it in him to fault him for it.   
  
This question gave Jay pause, and he considered it for several moments. "I don't know," he admitted.  "I don't want it, but…We think the last girl who got pregnant, that stuff is what killed her." He looked up at the lieutenant with pained eyes. "You see my problem."    
  
Yes, Neil supposed he certainly could see the problem there. "So you'll give it up?"  
  
This Jay answered with certainty. "I couldn't—even if I didn't want it, I couldn't force it to live life the way I did." The implication, that Jay's child would grow up to be in the same place he was, made him feel all the sicker.   
  
"And you probably couldn't find the… him to tell him so he could make things right," Neil mused.   
  
Jay wrung his hands. "I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye, much less ask him to marry a whore."   
  
It was the first time Jay had ever referred to himself in such a way, in a way that suggested he was of so little worth, and the tone of his voice suggested a deeply held sincerity—he truly thought of himself that way. For reasons he couldn't even begin to grasp, Neil found himself deeply offended by the notion and replied with the first thing to tumble out of his mouth—"I'll marry you."   
  
Jay recoiled sharply from Neil's hold. "Neil, no!"   
  
"Why not?" As little thought as he'd put into the notion, Neil found it making more and more sense as he spoke. "An officer's w…" He stopped—given Jay's past requests, suggesting that he would be a wife now seemed disrespectful. "The spouse of an officer is very well cared for—I don't get paid nearly enough, but I have money, and you'd have a safe,  _private_  home to do whatever you needed to have the baby and whatever you wanted after, not to mention army doctors—"  
  
"I appreciate your kindness, Neil," Jay interrupted, laying his hands on Neil's, "but I couldn't ask that of you. Why would you marry me when you could have someone better in the future?" His next words were spoken more to himself than to Neil. "Someone who doesn't…"   
  
The half-finished sentence's meaning was surprisingly clear. "I don't understand why your body isn’t the way you want it," Neil started slowly, "and I could never understand that—but I do understand that I don't want someone better." He reached over and laced his fingers with Jay's. "I have you, don't I?"   
  
Jay looked up, and it was apparent how serious Neil was, and how sincere he was in his proposal, and the sincerity and the kindness touched Jay in a way that he couldn't begin to describe or express, except by crying and throwing his arms around Jay's neck. He did love Neil, he would admit that (if only to himself), but it was out of necessity that he agreed to marry him.   
  
For the first time since he'd started seeing Jay, Neil stayed the night, the pair of them curled together like spoons on top of the unkempt bedclothes, Neil's arms wrapped protectively around Jay. 


	2. Part Two

Jay's debt to the house was more expensive than Neil had suspected, but he insisted on paying it off in full. "Think of it as a new start," he told Jay as he watched him pack his few belongings that morning. Jay's only reply was to snort derisively.   
  
Neil didn't want to think that buying Jay's debt was his engagement present to him, but the cost left him little in the way of money to pay for a more fitting token for him. Then again, the one in his pocket felt a little more fitting.   
  
"It's not much," Neil admitted, unlocking the door to the small brick house in the officers' housing part of the base, "but this is home." He pushed the door open and held a hand out to Jay, wordlessly inviting him inside.   
  
Jay took up the battered suitcase at his feet and walked past Neil to stand in the middle of the open front room. "It's nice," he said quietly as Neil came in after him, looking around at the sitting area, dining room and kitchen. "Cozy."   
  
"Nothing fancy," Neil replied dismissively, "but I'm glad you like it." He stood awkwardly in front of Jay for several moments before pointing behind him. "There's a pantry and a little washroom down here, everything else—" he stepped past Jay to indicate the stairs—"is upstairs. Study, bathroom, two bedrooms…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want to go lie down or anything?"   
  
"Shouldn't we talk to the chaplain before we talk about giving me your bedroom?" Jay suggested, looking from the stairs to the lieutenant.   
  
"If you want," Neil offered.   
  
"We should get it over with," Jay mumbled. "I'm sure people gossip here just as much as they do…" He swallowed hard. "As they do back there—I don't want them talking about you bringing me home."   
  
Neil's smile was thin, but warm, and he stepped forward to wrap Jay in a loose embrace and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry I can't give you a proper gift," he said, reaching into his trouser pocket and removed a ring, which he showed to Jay. Sitting in his palm was a thin silver band set with a small piece of pale green jade. "All I have is this."   
  
"It's really beautiful," Jay said softly.   
  
"It was my mother's," Neil explained. He turned the ring over in his hand, considering it fondly. "She gave it to me before I left home, to give to whoever I married, so…" He knelt in front of Jay, holding out the ring on his open hand. "Jay…" It abruptly occurred to Neil that even after a year, he didn't know the brunet's last name.   
  
As Neil had knelt, Jay's eyes flicked down, and thus far had yet to lift from the toes of his worn leather shoes. Now, in the midst of the awkward silence, he looked up and said, "…Morrow. My last name's Morrow."   
  
"Okay." Neil nodded his understanding before trying again: "Jay Morrow, will you please marry me?"   
  
Even though it was entirely too late to turn back now, Jay seemed to hesitate. "…Yeah."  


	3. Part Three

Jay's sickness became apparent almost immediately after their appointment with the chaplain, as Neil woke the next morning to an alarm clock, a cold bed and the distant sound of retching. He groaned and grumbled as he silenced the ringing bells on the alarm, then sat up and listened. It was wrong, he supposed, to simply listen without offering comfort, but if he was truly honest with himself, he didn't know what he could have done for Jay. It was quite the way to start a marriage…   
  
After a few more moments, slow, shuffling footsteps could be heard in the hall, and the door pushed open. Jay looked worn out, and like he hadn’t slept well the night before. When he looked up and saw Neil, his expression became almost apologetic. "Did I wake you up?" he asked quietly.   
  
"No, I wake up early," Neil replied, pushing the blankets back and setting his feet on the floor. "Good morning."   
  
"Good morning," Jay mumbled in reply, tugging at the sleeve of his nightshirt. He had admitted last night that he barely ever wore nightclothes, but that he favored the same style of loose shirts and trousers Neil did.   
  
"Did you sleep well?" Neil asked, standing and joining Jay at the door. He wrapped his arms around him loosely and brushed a light kiss to his forehead.   
  
"No." As Jay spoke, he leaned wearily into Neil's hold. "I've been… I've been sick all night."   
  
Neil clucked his tongue sympathetically before steering Jay back to the bed. "Rest," he ordered gently.    
  
"I can't—no, thank you," Jay protested, seemingly digging his bare heels into the floorboards. "I'll make you breakfast—"   
  
"There's no need," Neil reassured. "I wake up early enough that making something for you won't be an issue."   
  
"Then let me help," the brunet insisted. "I should learn how to…" He swallowed hard. "How to be a good spouse for you."   
  
"Don't worry about that," Neil soothed. "We're going to take care of you first."   
  
Jay looked at Neil as though this was a highly foreign concept, but nodded as he followed Neil downstairs and into the small kitchen. He watched Neil's process with intense focus, as though he was mentally cataloging the whole process, and seemed almost surprised when, several minutes later, Neil presented him with a small plate of bread, buttered and toasted in a skillet, and a mug of warm tea with the encouragement to eat as much as he felt he could. "My mama always said that a little food was good when your… stomach is bothering you," Neil said by way of explanation.  
  
Jay nodded his understanding before taking the simple meal to the table. The little conversation between them ceased as Jay started to eat and Neil started to slice some fruit and prepare a cup of coffee for himself. After several minutes, he sat across from Jay at the table and they ate in silence. It wasn't the silence shared between strangers, but the silence between two people who had nothing to say. Between sips of coffee, Neil took note of some of Jay's habits—namely, the way he ate everything in front of him, more out of what appeared to be duty than any sense of hunger, which made sense when his… Neil elected to call it  _condition_  was taken into account. He seemed to favor the tea more than anything else.   
  
Across the room, a small clock chimed six, and the pair lifted their heads in surprise at the sound. Neil quickly drank the rest of his coffee, ignoring the burn in his throat, and pushed the half finished plate of fruit to Jay. "You can finish this if you want it," he said. "I'm going to change." He waited until Jay responded to the words, which came in the form of a mute nod, before disappearing upstairs to dress for the day's duties.   
  
When he returned some twenty minutes later, Jay was still seated at the table. "I'll be back at six or so," he said, standing by Jay and laying a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about cleaning or doing anything around the house, okay? I want you to rest and drink plenty of tea and water." He meaningfully slid Jay's half full mug toward him. "Do you need anything?"  
  
"No thank you," Jay replied, shaking his head and standing. "Have… Have a good day."   
  
"Thank you, I will." Neil wrapped his arms around Jay, loosely, before pulling back to brush a kiss to Jay's forehead. "Don't worry about trying to meet the neighbors yet," he instructed softly. "It'll give us time to… decide what we want to tell them."   
  
"I understand," Jay murmured, flicking his eyes down.   
  
"We'll get everyone on the same page soon enough," Neil promised, kissing Jay's forehead again. "I have to go start my duties—have a good day, hmm?"   
  
"I'll try," the brunet said. "May I see you out?"   
  
"Sure," Neil replied, wrapping his arm around Jay's shoulder.   
  
"How do you get to your base?" At least now a little of the curiosity that had first made Jay so attractive to Neil was coming back.   
  
"I bike," Neil admitted, stepping out the front door and placing his cap neatly on his head. He broke away from Jay to take up a blue steel bicycle that had been leaning against the wall. "I don't care for waiting for a ride, you know?"   
  
Jay nodded. "Have a safe ride," he said.   
  
Neil smiled at that. "I will." He pushed the bicycle through the yard to pass through the front gate, which he closed behind him, and waved goodbye to Jay before getting on and pedaling away.  
  
Jay watched him ride away, waving until he saw him turn the corner. Neil out of sight, he closed the front door and hastily retreated upstairs, fighting what felt like an uphill battle with his stomach.   
  
 _It's going to be a long, long nine months…_


	4. Part Four

The lie read thus: Jay ( _Juliet_ , he told Neil with a wince that night as they sat down to get their stories straight) was from the capital, and had married Neil a few months prior; they had been planning to save their money until they could afford a better home off-base but the sudden move had been brought about by a sudden bout of terrible financial luck befalling the Morrow family, and the baby was something of a recently discovered surprise.   
  
It was something that they both could keep straight in their heads, not to mention perfectly plausible—and their neighbors and Neil's comrades bought it completely. That had certainly been the goal, at any rate, but they hadn't anticipated the sudden influx of secondhand goods for Jay and the baby (both of which were consistently referred to as "poor dears," which galled Jay immensely). Still, given that Neil's pocketbook was still recovering from paying Jay's debts a few months earlier, the things presented to them were all things they needed, or would need down the line, and thus wouldn't have to scrape together the money to buy.   
  
Among the items presented to them was a basket of skeins of yarn and knitting needles. Jay had accepted them with a small but vacant smile before politely asking what he was meant to do with it all. This was all it took for the three oldest daughters of the captain next door to seemingly adopt Jay, because the next thing he or Neil knew, Jay was surrounded by all three of them in the sitting area, Jay in an armchair and the girls on the floor around him, all showing him how to prepare his needles to knit for the baby. Jay looked utterly lost throughout their teachings, but did try to keep up.   
  
Neil had watched the lesson with vague amusement before giving Jay as kiss on the top of the head in farewell (much to the apparent delight of the girls). That had been early in the afternoon, when he had stopped by to visit Jay at lunch; now it was evening, and Neil was leaning his bicycle against the house. All things considered, once he and Jay had made and settled in for dinner, it was going to be a quiet evening.   
  
He opened the front door, his cap tucked under his arm, and opened his mouth to greet Jay, but was quickly cut off by the latter's frustrated yell, and a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn flying across the room. "Jay, what's wrong?" he asked, closing the door and quickly crossing the living room to kneel by Jay's side.   
  
Jay had curled in on himself, his knees drawn up to his chest as he buried his face in his hands. When he spoke, it was barely audible. "…trying to knit…"   
  
"I noticed," Neil said after a moment. "What are you making?"   
  
Even covered, it was obvious that Jay's face was flushing pink from embarrassment. "A blanket," he mumbled. "For… for the…"   
  
"A baby blanket," he finished, saying what Jay couldn't. He looked at the trail of yarn that went from the basket at Jay's feet to the strand that stretched across the room and the distance glitter of silver needles. "You picked a great color—why throw it all across the room?"   
  
"…I can't knit," Jay admitted, lifting his head and wiping away tears. "The girls taught me but when they left, I kept trying and I'd—I'd drop stitches and—" New tears started to slide down his cheeks. "I can't do it. I can't do anything but be—"  
  
"Hey." Neil laid a hand on Jay's cheek. "It's behind us, remember?" He didn't wait for Jay to answer. "Don't worry—I'll do the knitting."  
  
"I couldn't ask that of you," Jay protested weakly.  
  
"I don't mind," Neil replied easily, standing and offering Jay his hand. "How about we have dinner and after, we'll listen to the radio."   
  
Jay slowly placed his hand in Neil's but when he stood it was on his own. "What would you like me to make?" he asked quietly.   
  
They agreed on the chicken, already butchered, gifted to them by a fellow lieutenant, and Jay insisted on being left to his own devices. Neil agreed, and went about picking up the needles and rerolling the ball of yarn at the kitchen table while Jay busied himself, or tried to, in the kitchen. The occasional clatter of a pan or muttered curse would meet Neil's ear, but as much as we wanted to do otherwise, he did nothing about them. Instead, he focused his attentions on preparing the needles and starting the blanket off.   
  
Dinner was late that evening, but eventually Jay (looking noticeably more flustered than when he had began) set a plate of food by Neil's elbow. "Here," he said, his voice subservient.   
  
"Oh, you didn't have to do that," Neil commented, laying aside the rows of stitches.   
  
"I… I wanted to." Jay said this as though it was scripted.   
  
Neil felt a protest on his tongue—Jay didn't have to prepare his plate, or even cook for him, but he seemed so set on it that all Neil could bring himself to say was, "Thank you. "   
  
He waited for Jay to return with his own smaller plate, and they sat side by side to eat. Partway through the meal, Jay laid his fork aside and asked, "How do you know how to knit?"   
  
"My mother taught me," the blond replied.   
  
"But boys don't knit." Jay's hand flew to his mouth, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"   
  
"It's a little unusual to most, I know," Neil said casually, "but she thought it was good for me to know."   
  
"You're so lucky," Jay said wistfully.   
  
A small smile tugged at the corner of Neil's mouth. "What makes you say that?" he asked, reaching over to tuck a wisp of Jay's hair behind his ear.   
  
"No one ever taught me how to do the things a girl is supposed to do," Jay admitted.   
  
"But you're not a girl," Neil pointed out.   
  
"But I…" Jay swallowed hard. "I fuck like a girl."   
  
The sharp word sounded wrong coming from Jay's tongue, and Neil forced himself to not recoil from it. "And you don't have to do that anymore," he reminded gently, laying his hand on Jay's.   
  
"And now I don't know how to do anything," he said. "I don't know how to cook, or how to knit, or how to be—how to be a mother—"   
  
Neil reached over and took both of Jay's hands in his. "None of that matters," he said, voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to do anything any other officer's wife does—I want you to devote as much attention to yourself as you have to me these last few months, and we'll learn all of this together." He gently squeezed the other's fingers. "Deal?"   
  
The look Jay gave him pained Neil, like he wanted to believe him but didn't dare hope for something so good. When he agreed, it seemed more like it was to please Neil. 


	5. Part Five

In private, Jay wore his dresses as little as possible, favoring some of Neil's older civilian clothes instead. It was one of the few comforts he seemed to draw from being married to Neil, but come late May, the act of dressing became as much of a battle as his ever-constant sickness. The first thing Neil noticed in that regard was when Jay was undressing for the night, and the former spotted where the waistband of the trousers had rubbed at the skin of Jay's stomach, the affected area now an uncomfortable-looking shade of pink. "What happened here?" he asked, nodding slightly toward the injury.   
  
Jay looked down to where Neil had indicated, and his head lowered in shame. "I think I'm getting too big for your trousers," he admitted.   
  
"Doesn't it hurt?" Neil asked.   
  
"It just rubs a lot," Jay answered, laying his hand over the inflamed skin. The way he touched himself seemed stiff and awkward.   
  
"It doesn't bother you?" Neil tried to avoid looking at the way Jay's belly was starting to curve out; that and touching his belly were the two things Jay had begged him to not do.   
  
"It's not comfortable," Jay replied, "but it could be worse."    
  
"Do any of your other clothes fit?" the blond asked.   
  
Jay looked from Neil to the stack of neatly folded skirts and dresses that had sat on the chair in the corner of the bedroom since the day he'd arrived. "…I don't know," he admitted. "I could… try them on, I suppose."   
  
"It couldn't hurt," Neil encouraged. "Since summer's coming, something too small would be uncomfortable for you, wouldn't it?" Would overly tight trousers or dresses be bad for Jay or the baby?   
  
Jay picked up the first gown, holding the thing away from him like he was afraid it would bite him, before shrugging out of the open button down shirt he wore and pulling the dress over his head. Neil started to reach forward to help with the zippered back, but there was no need as Jay reached behind himself and tugged the zipper up, the gesture obviously well practiced. When he turned to face Neil, his posture was as stiff and awkward as the way he handled his stomach, and he looked pained. More than that, the strain of the bodice against his belly was obvious. "It's tight," he mumbled.   
  
Neil nodded sympathetically. "I'll ask around and see if someone knows a way to get these tailored," he offered.   
  
"Can't you find me better-fitting trousers?" Jay pleaded.   
  
"Not without jumping through a bunch of hoops," Neil replied, shaking his head. "Plus…" Here he paused to bite his lip. "I don't want anyone to make a fuss about you being male."   
  
However Jay felt about Neil referring to him as male was unclear, as it seemed he was more distracted by the issue of his dresses. "…Maybe some of the other officers' wives?" he mumbled.   
  
"I'll ask around tomorrow."   
  
-•-•-•-   
  
Asking around was the easy part. Convincing Jay that a sewing circle was probably going to be the best, if only, way to get his clothes tailored both cheaply and efficiently was the challenge, but eventually, Neil managed to persuade him, and thus walked him and his canvas bag of clothes to the base social hall on his way to his work that Friday.   
  
When he returned home that evening, Neil entered the house to find Jay standing at the kitchen counter, his head bent over a chopping board a few sliced carrots. He was wearing one of his newly altered dresses, and even from a distance it was obvious that it was now better fitting.   
  
Neil removed his cap and set it on the table before coming up beside Jay and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Hello, Jay."   
  
Jay recoiled from Neil's touch as though he'd been burned and forcibly pushed Neil away. When the lieutenant met his eyes, Jay's expression was dark. "Do not. Touch Me."   
  
Neil stepped back, lifting in hands in a passive gesture. "I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry."   
  
The tension in Jay's shoulders dropped, and he seemed to deflate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of…" He shook his head and turned back to the chopping board.   
  
"Did something happen when you were getting your dresses sewn?" Neil asked, leaning against the counter.   
  
The knife in Jay's hand stilled for a moment, but he didn't look away from the work in front of him. "They all kept touching my… My stomach."   
  
Neil was instantly struck with pangs of sympathy for him—he didn't like his own husband to touch him like that, much less strangers. "I'm sure they mean well," Neil said bracingly, "and they don't know any better."    
  
"I wanted to say something, but…" Jay shook his head again. "Asking someone to not touch me seems rude."   
  
"If you don't want them to, tell to keep their hands to themselves," Neil replied. "You have that right."   
  
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Jay's mouth. "…Whatever you say, Neil." 


	6. Part Six

The days of the next few months blurred together for their similarity, and all passed without incident. The base was gripped in the middle of a dead July heat, and as Jay and Neil walked to the PX, the air around the seemed to shimmer. He hadn’t verbalized it, but it was apparent that Jay was suffering from the discomfort of being five months pregnant in the heat, and Neil was doing everything he could to try to distract him. They ended up talking about the wedding of the base's colonel's daughter—Neil had stressed to Jay that they didn't have to go, but Jay encouraged him to accept, if only because it would look bad for an officer of Neil's rank to be absent. "And because, frankly, it'd be ironic." (Neil failed to see how, but it was the first joke Jay had cracked in months, so of course Neil managed a laugh before he wrote out an RSVP.)   
  
In accepting the invitation, they had also agreed to the on-base tradition to present the newly married couple with a gift. Jay and Neil's gifts had taken the form of the gifts for the baby that had been haphazardly stored in the second bedroom, but it had been Jay's suggestion to make a dessert, and he'd seemed surprised when Neil agreed that it  _was_ a good idea.   
  
Neil held the PX door open for Jay, who seemed rather taken by the place. It was small, and the shelves were crowded, but it felt very homely. When Neil entered after Jay, the clerk behind the counter greeted them as easily as he might a friend, and Neil returned the greeting in the same way. Jay dipped his head in silent greeting, still shy around others, his fingers curling around the scrap of paper on which Neil had drawn the shopping list.   
  
Neil was quick to pick up on Jay's discomfort, and he gently steered him toward one of the farther corners of the store, where the in-season produce sat in bins for purchase. While Neil measured out scoops of flour and sugar for a pastry crust, Jay sifted through the selection of berries, eventually filling up the dish they'd brought to measure.   
  
"Just need a few more things," Jay informed him, mentally striking each drawing from the list—three kinds of berries, flour, sugar and a few other sundries. "Cream, and more writing paper."   
  
"I'll get the paper," Neil replied, dusting flour from his hands. "If you go up to the front counter to ask for the cream, I'll meet you there."   
  
Jay gripped the list a little tighter, but he nodded as bravely as he could and made his way to the front counter. When he spoke to ask for the bottle of cream, his voice didn't quaver, but he still didn't look the clerk in the eye, looking instead at the displays of more valuable goods and jars of sweets on the shelves beyond. One particular jar caught his eye, and Jay couldn't help but look at it a little wistfully, when he was certain the clerk wasn't watching.   
  
"Nearly done?" Neil asked, coming up behind Jay and interrupting his thoughts.   
  
"Almost," Jay confirmed, looking away from the jars to Neil.   
  
The blond smiled slightly. "Spot something you want?"   
  
"Oh—no." Jay shook his head before reaching out to accept the bottle of cream the clerk had brought out from the icebox.   
  
"Why don't you wait outside?" Neil suggested gently, leaning down to brush a light kiss against the top of Jay's head. "I'll settle up in here."   
  
Jay nodded before gathering up the groceries that had been totaled up so far and leaving to stand under the shade of an awning. A few minutes later, Neil returned with the remainder of their purchases and a wide grin on his face. "You look pleased with yourself," Jay observed.   
  
"I'm in a good mood, if that's what you mean," Neil replied easily as they started for home.  
  
"What's made you so cheerful?" Jay asked, his steps falling in time with Neil's.   
  
"I'll tell you when we get back," the other said vaguely, readjusting his grip on the small crate in which he carried the groceries.   
  
No more was said on the subject, though Jay did wonder what his husband (and it was still very strange to call Neil that) was so happy about, as they walked back, or as they put everything away once home. As Jay turned away from closing the icebox, Neil held out a small paper sack to him. "Here."   
  
"Nothing on the list was this small," Jay said.   
  
"It wasn't on the list," Neil replied. "It's for you—here."   
  
"Neil, I couldn't—" Jay protested.   
  
"Jay, please." Neil gently pressed the bag into his hands. "It's a gift."   
  
"You didn't have to give me anything," Jay mumbled, hold the bag out to Neil for him to take it back.  
  
"I wanted to." Neil pointedly curled Jay's fingers around the paper and nudged his hands back. "Humor me, please?"   
  
Jay bit his lower lip, but nodded and carefully opened the bag. His eyes widened, briefly, before he reached into the bag and pulled out one of the things inside—a piece of taffy, pale green in color and wrapped in waxed paper. "You bought—there's got to be a few dollars worth—"   
  
"I saw you eyeing it in the PX," Neil replied easily.   
  
"You weren’t paying your grocery bill at all," Jay said accusingly.   
  
"Payment comes out of my pay." Neil waved a hand dismissively. "Besides—Jay, you deserve it. You've been way tougher than I could ever be, given the circumstance. Why shouldn't you have something that makes you happy?"   
  
Jay opened his mouth to rebut the statement, but no words came out. After a moment of consideration, he sat at the kitchen table, looking into the bag as though it would provide some kind of answer. Finally, he murmured, "No one's ever given me a gift like this before…"   
  
"Never?" Neil asked, sitting next to him.   
  
Jay shook his head. "The madam gave us a little money at Christmas and on birthdays, but…" He paused to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. "Gifts like this only ever came from… Callers."   
  
"None of the… Clients ever gave you anything," Neil guessed.  
  
"I was never memorable enough," Jay confirmed, "and I never had enough business to become memorable." He pulled another piece of taffy from the bag, this one white and red, and he smiled faintly. "Some of the other girls, when they got gifts like this and they were feeling generous… They would share. One of them—Monika, her name was Monika… She knew I liked these taffies and she'd share."  
  
"You should have asked—I would have bought them for you," Neil said.   
  
"I was… afraid you'd say no," the other admitted.   
  
"Why would I do that?" Neil asked, laying his hand on Jay's.   
  
Jay shook his head. "I just… Whenever I've asked for things before, I was never given them—I was told I was stupid to expect anything like that."   
  
"To ask for human kindness isn’t stupid," Neil said sincerely. How dare someone tell Jay otherwise—  
  
"It's hard to erase years that have said otherwise," Jay murmured.   
  
"Those years are behind you." Neil scooted his chair closer to Jay's. "Now you can have anything you want."   
  
"Anything in the world?" Jay asked, his voice guarded.   
  
"If you want or need it, then yes," Neil confirmed.   
  
Jay shook his head, looking almost overwhelmed at the prospect, before his lower lip started to quiver. "No one ever asked me what I wanted before… I could never afford anything I wanted."   
  
"You can now," Neil soothed, reaching up to brush some of Jay's hair back behind his ear. It was starting to get long, and he suspected Jay might ask for him to cut it later.   
  
The corners of Jay's mouth twitched up, briefly, before he considered Neil out of the corner of his eye. "May I have some of my taffy?"   
  
The request was so simple, so childlike, that Neil felt a twinge of heartache for his spouse. "As much of it as you want."   
  
Jay carefully sorted through the pieces, eventually selecting two red and white peppermint pieces for himself. He slid two other pieces, both of them pale brown, toward Neil. "These are yours," he announced, sweeping the rest of the pieces back into the bag.   
  
"Thank you," Neil said sincerely. "What kind are these?"   
  
They were chocolate. "I don't like the chocolate ones." 


	7. Part Seven

Jay didn't talk much about what he did while Neil was on duty. Very light housework and cooking, and accepting social calls from friendly wives and daughters, Neil gathered, though he suspected Jay slept a lot as well. However Jay spent the hours while they were separated, he was always seated in the living room or at the kitchen table, waiting to greet Neil upon his arrival home and ask questions about how his day had gone. Neil had gotten used to it, which made seeing Jay jump up from the table with panicked eyes upon his arrival home this particular evening all the more surprising.   
  
"What's wrong?" Neil asked, watching the other rush from the table to stand in front of him.   
  
"It's time—now," Jay announced, his tone clipped.   
  
Neil drew in a sharp breath. "That can't be right," he said, as if trying to reason with the situation. "You're only five months."   
  
"Never mind five months," he replied, notes of desperation creeping into his voice. "I'm in labor now!"   
  
A military response sprung to Neil's tongue, and he wanted to snap at Jay to get ahold of himself and deliver his report as calmly as he was able. Two things were wrong with this knee-jerk response: one, Jay was in no state to deliver a calm report and to expect that of him was probably one of the cruelest things Neil could do to him, and two, Neil knew that his reaction would shape Jay's, and that it wouldn't do either of them any good if Jay was feeding off Neil's panic. Neil drew another breath, this one slower and calmer, before laying his hands on Jay's shoulders. "What makes you say that?" he asked. "Is the pain bad?"   
  
Here, Jay hesitated. "No, but…  _Feel_!" He reached up and pulled Neil's hands from his shoulders and held them in place on his stomach.   
  
After months of deliberately avoiding touching Jay's torso, this was such a sudden change that Neil couldn't help but be surprised. For several moments, they stood very still, both of them eyeing his hands; finally, Neil felt a very specific, undeniable sensation—that of a small tap against his fingers. Part of Neil felt pity for Jay—he'd admitted a long time ago that he knew little of what to expect in the coming months, which certainly explained his fears, but at the same time, the feel of the quickening was… Neil felt almost guilty for the delighted smile that touched his face. "It's not your labor, Jay," he soothed. "It's moving."   
  
"Well, what's the difference?" Jay snapped.   
  
"Babies move and kick in their parent's stomach," he explained. "It's normal—healthy, actually." He shifted his hand slightly on Jay's belly, his heart warming significantly as the child kicked again.   
  
"Neil?" Jay asked softly. "I'd like for you to stop touching me now."   
  
"Of course," he agreed, withdrawing his hand. "Sorry." Despite the faux pas, Neil couldn't help but grin.   
  
Jay offered him a thin smile. "You act like it's yours," he noted, his eyes almost sad.   
  
Neil considered it—despite the fact that the child Jay carried wasn't his, except in name, the happiness he felt at the feel of the child moving against his hand, and by extension the prospect of a future with both Jay and the child, was decidedly paternal. "Yeah, I suppose I do." 


	8. Part Eight

It was September now, and the nights were growing cooler—so much so that Neil and Jay had spent more and more nights sleeping curled up together, as opposed to the months before, when Jay would curl in on himself like a cat and Neil would lie on his back, arms stiff at his sides.   
  
As had become his habit, Neil woke briefly in earliest hours of the morning, and found the opposite side of the bed cold and empty. His brow furrowing slightly, he lifted his head and glanced around the room. "Jay…?"   
  
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Neil could see Jay's back, as the latter was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was quiet, but he was hunched over, his shoulders shaking.   
  
"Jay?" Neil repeated, a little louder, reaching over to touch his arm. "Are you alright?"   
  
Jay gave a start when he felt Neil's fingers on his arm; when he turned to him, his expression was sheepish. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he mumbled, swiping at his eyes.   
  
"You didn't wake me," Neil reassured, turning onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. "Are you okay?"   
  
"I'm fine," Jay replied.   
  
"You don't seem fine," Neil pointed out softly.   
  
Jay bowed his head, wringing his hands in his lap and fussing with his engagement ring. "I'm not fine," he admitted. "I'm scared."   
  
"Of what?" Neil asked, sitting up.   
  
"It's the…" Jay trailed off before laying his hands on his stomach.   
  
"Do you feel sick?" Neil slid over and sat next to Jay, laying his hand on his forehead and cheeks. He didn't dare entertain the notion that Jay was going into labor.   
  
"I'm not sick," Jay replied, remaining still and impassive as Neil fussed over him. "I'm just… I'm really worried."   
  
"About the baby?" Neil repeated. He didn't wait for the other's reply. "Do you have reason to?"   
  
"Not at all," Jay explained. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. "I just… I keep thinking about it and… Neil, what if something goes wrong?"   
  
"What could go wrong?" Neil asked, wrapping his arm around Jay's shoulders.  
  
"I don't know." Jay wrapped his arms around himself and leaned heavily against Neil.   
  
"Is it the pain?" Neil prompted.   
  
"Of course!" Jay replied, tipping his head back to look at him. "The thought of that much pain terrifies me but… there's so much more than that."   
  
"Tell me what's on your mind." Neil rested his chin on the top of Jay's head, holding the other in a loose embrace. It occurred to him that despite the size of Jay's stomach, he felt small, almost fragile. Would he be this way up until the day his time came?   
  
"What if there's something wrong with the baby?" Jay mumbled. "If something's wrong I might… What if I hurt it?"   
  
"There's nothing in the world you could do to hurt that child," Neil soothed.   
  
"Don't say that," the brunet scolded. "I could do anything to hurt it—I don't know how to give birth."   
  
"You push a lot." Neil buried his nose in Jay's hair and smiled a little. "Push a lot and curse my name."   
  
Jay sighed, the puff of air from his nose warm on Neil's arm. "That doesn't help."   
  
"I'm sorry, Jay," he said sincerely. "But here's the thing—you said you wanted to have it at the base clinic, yeah? Do you still want to?"   
  
"Of course," he confirmed.   
  
"Then it might be your first time—"   
  
"And only time," Jay interrupted. "Whatever I have is  _it_."   
  
"Right, your first and only time," Neil went on, "but it won't be the first time for the doctors there. You only have to follow their instructions."   
  
Jay nodded—wordlessly at first before he quietly admitted, "I have nightmares sometimes. About being in… in labor and finding out there's more than one."   
  
"Do you think you're having twins?" Neil asked, rubbing Jay's arm. The idea that Jay might be carrying more than one child hadn’t really occurred to him until now; now that it  _had_ , he forced himself to swallow the worries he had about the prospect.   
  
Jay paused to consider the question. "No," he answered.   
  
"Does it feel like there's more than one?" Neil prompted. "You would have a better idea than I would, I'm sure."   
  
"No," Jay repeated, "but… Well, I don't know what more than one would feel like."   
  
"Well," Neil began, "I know I'm really not supposed to talk about your tummy, but you look a little small for being seven months along." He pulled back slightly to look Jay in the eye. "If you were having more than one, it would show, wouldn't it?"   
  
"I suppose," Jay mumbled. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Neil?"   
  
"Yeah, Jay?"   
  
Jay didn't look up as he fussed with the lacy edge of his nightgown, and when he spoke, it was very quiet. "Will I bleed?"   
  
"I imagine," Neil replied.   
  
"Will I bleed a lot?"   
  
"Maybe," he said honestly. "I don't know for sure."   
  
"What if…" Jay swallowed hard. "Do you think I might bleed to death?"   
  
This Neil could answer with more confidence. "You won't."   
  
"But you just said you didn't know!" Jay moaned.   
  
"I said I wasn't sure if you would bleed  _a lot_ ," Neil gently stressed. "I know you won't bleed to death because doctors'll be tending to you. They can stop bleeding like that—" he snapped his fingers—"you won't even notice it."   
  
"Do you think…" Jay paused to lick his lips before trying again. "I've been told my hips are narrow."   
  
"They're slender, yes," Neil agreed.   
  
"Do you think that'll make it harder to push the baby out?" Jay had found a loose thread on his nightgown and was tugging at that now.   
  
"I doubt it," Neil said.   
  
"Which…" The thread snapped in his fingers. "How does it come out?"   
  
"Usually head first," the blond explained.   
  
"What if it comes feet first—oh god, what if it suffocates?" Jay's eyes widened and he clutched his stomach. "What if it's already dead?"   
  
"We know the baby is okay right now," Neil soothed. "You still feel it moving and kicking, right?"   
  
Jay nodded, prompting Neil to continue, " Exactly—and remember how I said that if you mind the instructions from the doctors and nurses that you'll get through?"   
  
"I remember," Jay mumbled.   
  
"That's all it takes," Neil finished confidently.   
  
Jay was silent as he considered this. "…Then why am I so scared?"   
  
"It's a big thing—you have every right to be scared." Neil drew Jay a little closer, letting the latter lean against him once more. "When are you meant to have the baby?"   
  
"Mid-November," Jay replied quietly, worn out from his fears.   
  
"Come November, we'll be on our guard," Neil promised. "We'll get through this together."


	9. Part Nine

Neil couldn't remember a more miserable October, and it had only just begun. As he reviewed and signed off on reports, he could hear the rain pounding on the window, as well as the occasional, distant rumble of thunder. This was the kind of weather Jay said was good for sleep, and given that Jay had been complaining of back pains when he woke, Neil could easily imagine him curled up amid quilts and sheets.  
  
Just before noon, as Neil's mind was starting to wander to the prospect of lunch (the weather was too terrible to go home, and a working lunch was becoming a distinct possibility), there was a knock on the door, barely heard over the thunder. "Come in," Neil called.   
  
The door opened, and a sergeant stepped inside. "Lieutenant Cole," he greeted, saluting.    
  
Neil stood long enough to return the gesture, then sat back down to approve the last reports. "Sergeant."   
  
"There's a young lady here to see you, sir," the sergeant informed him.   
  
Neil's pen paused over the signatory line. "A young lady who's not my wife, I presume?" As it always did when he was forced to call Jay  _wife_  or  _Juliet_ , his throat ached.  
  
"Yes, sir," the sergeant confirmed. "She says it's important."   
  
"Send her in," Neil said as he wrote out his signature and the date,  _4 October_ —His pen has just scratched out the last digit of the year when the clomping for hurried footfalls made him look up. The young lady in question was one the younger neighbor daughters, probably fourteen or so; what the sergeant had neglected to mention was that despite her heavy cloak, she was soaked from the rain, and her shoes her caked with mud. More than her disheveled appearance, though, her eyes were wide, almost panicked.   
  
Neil opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "The baby's coming. Now."   
  
"No," he replied confidently. "The baby isn’t due until November."   
  
"Lieutenant, the baby's coming  _now_!" When she shook her head, water dripped from her hair, and her voice was high and almost desperate. "My mother sent me to tell you to come home as soon as you could."   
  
Neil stood, but didn't speak for a moment. This wasn't like when Jay mistook the baby's kicking for his labor. His good humor had been coming back the last few months, but Neil knew that Jay wouldn't take these steps for a joke. "Your mother's certain J… she's in labor?"   
  
"Positive," she replied. She hesitated for a moment before quietly adding, "Miss Juliet wants you to come home, too. She's really scared."   
  
The conversation he'd had with Jay just a few weeks ago, all of the fears Jay had verbalized, echoed in Neil's ears. He'd promised Jay that everything would be okay, that he'd be safe, that they get through it together—"Run back and tell them I'm on my way." To whom he was referring was unclear even to himself, but the girl nodded her understanding and rushed out, closing the door behind herself as she went.   
  
In the privacy of his closed office, Neil's breathing grew short, and his hands trembled as he gathered up the finished reports. Should he drop these—No, Jay needed him. He needed to rush out—he set the reports back on his desk and hastily shrugged into his uniform jacket, then his overcoat, and set his cap firmly on his head before taking up the reports once more and leaving his office, stopping only to deposit the reports on the desk of the officer immediately below him. His only words were, "I'm needed at home—don't count on me being back for a while."   
  
-•-•-•-   
  
Riding a bicycle, even one as sturdy as his, in pouring rain was a bitch. Neil knew he'd looked better, and looking the way he, a lieutenant, did— soaked to the skin, spattered in mud and panting heavily—as he abandoned the bike in the yard and rushed into the house was a disgrace to the uniform. Frankly, given that the only thought he'd dared to think between leaving the base and now was  _get home, Jay needs you_ , he found didn't care as much as he might have this time last year.   
  
The lower level of the house was still and quiet, and although Neil understood why, he didn't find that comforting. He all but threw his coat and uniform jacket off and bounded up the stairs, two at a time.   
  
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, but as Neil reached for it to go inside, the mother of the young girl who had gotten him blocked his path. "Everything's under control," she soothed. "No need for you to be here."   
  
"I need to," he said instantly. "Please—I need to be—"   
  
The sound that came from the bedroom wasn't quite like anything Neil had ever heard—it didn't start as a quiet whine, but seemed to come, full force, from the throat of someone in unimaginable pain. The older woman glanced behind her, shaking her head and softly murmuring what a "poor thing" Jay was, but the sound only steeled Neil's resolve. "Please, Molly—" he was begging now, and using every little trick he knew to try to sway her—"Listen to that—"   
  
"Neil." Her voice was still maternal, but firm and authoritative that no soldier could ever mimic. "I know you want to be with her—the only reason you're not is because it'll get her too excited, and that's bad for the baby."   
  
Neil wanted to spit the words back in her face—too excited?  _He_  needed someone to be with  _him_  who understood everything  _he'd_  been through the last few months, who knew the best way to assuage  _his_  worries—if nothing else he wanted to snap at her to use the right goddamn names for his spouse.   
  
From beyond the closed door, Jay gave a weak moan, as though the sound was a precursor to another pained scream, and against all better judgment and want, the fight left Neil. He slowly nodded his understanding before mumbling, "You'll tell me if something changes?"   
  
"Of course," she agreed, laying her hands on his shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze before turning him toward the stairs. "There's tea on the stove, so go ahead and settle in dear. It might be a long night."   
  
Neil glanced over his shoulder and opened his mouth to ask, but she was already disappearing into the bedroom, closing the door for good measure. He shook his head and continued down the stairs. He probably didn't want to know what she meant by that anyway.   
  
Making himself tea was a lot harder than he had predicted—as he started to pour the tea into a cup, another scream cut through the air, and when he jumped, the boiling liquid splashed up onto his wrists. He bit back a curse and gave up, electing to drink cold water instead. The water did little to dispel the chill his wet clothes set in his bones, now that he was inside a fairly warm house and not moving as fast as was humanly possible.   
  
He knew little of what Jay was going through—a little technical knowledge, naturally, but still not enough to be able to rationally explain why every moan and wail sounded like Jay was being tortured. Of course, wasn't this torture for him to begin with? It was something he'd told Neil he never wanted, but it had been forced on him anyway. Maybe that was what he'd meant when he'd told Neil  _It's all rape to me_. 


	10. Part Ten

The moaning and wailing lasted for several hours, and with every one, every vocalization of pain, every plea for it to end—all of it clearly heard as though Neil  _were_  right by his side—Neil felt his stomach sink a little lower. Just as bad as not being there when he'd made such a promise to Jay, was knowing he was utterly useless down here—and nothing he did provided enough of a distraction to take his mind away from what was happening upstairs. Even if it had, would he  _truly_  have been able to tune out the way Jay's screams started quietly, peaked and held in volume for several chilling seconds, before dropping off into ill-contained sobs?   
  
He was reading the newspaper, tearing the front page into tiny strips as he went, when suddenly, the sound caught his ear—or rather, silence caught his ear. He sat up straight, straining to hear any sign of life from the upstairs; all he caught were soft whispers, the words indistinguishable, and quiet footsteps. When the footsteps started making their way down the stairs, he stood quickly, the chair scraping impossibly loudly against the floor, and he met Molly at the foot the steps.   
  
"She's fine," she promised him, speaking before he even opened his mouth.   
  
That's all she had to say after all that?  _She's fine_? Neil wanted shake her by the shoulders and demand more news from her, demand that she call him by the proper name—all he could do was lift his hands and gape before managing to ask, "Baby?"   
  
"Not quite," she answered, wiping her hands on her apron. She wasn't calling attention to the smears of blood left behind, and Neil didn't want to think about the implications of it.   
  
More importantly—"All that pain, the sobs and the screaming… and there's no baby?" Perhaps it was a good thing Jay had sworn that he would never allow himself to have another child—there was no way Neil could handle any of this a second time.   
  
"It takes time," Molly explained calmly. "The pains come and go—she's between spells."   
  
"There's more of that to come?" Neil said, his voice almost flat.   
  
"The before is always worse than the middle," she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "She's resting."   
  
"Nothing's happening?" Neil felt a flutter of hope in his chest.   
  
The older woman nodded, and he started to walk past her, trying to decide on the best words of comfort to give Jay, but she caught him by the wrist, stopping him on the first step. "I'm afraid you still can't go to her, dear."   
  
"Why not?" Neil protested, lifting his hand toward the bedroom. "Nothing's happening—all I want is…" He swallowed hard, forcing himself to chose his words carefully. "Is to see her."   
  
"I know you," she said gently, "but having the father there will just get her excited again." Neil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the implication that  _he_  put Jay through this circle of hell. "The baby is early enough—let's not rush it anymore than we have to, hmm?"   
  
The reminder of how very off-guard they'd been caught stilled Neil's tongue, and he nodded slowly as he stepped back onto the wood floor. "Please take care of them," he mumbled.   
  
"Your wife and your baby are in good hands," she reassured, steering Neil back to the dining room table. "While the girls take care of her, I'll make you a dinner."   
  
Here, Neil found the strength of will to dig in his heels. "I can make my own meal, but thank you for the offer. Just… All I ask in return is that you please take care of my family."   
  
-•-•-•-   
  
Dinner was extremely simple, cold roast from the night before between slices of thick rye bread and cold water, and Neil felt like he was choking it down the whole time. He wasn't even that hungry, but Molly's silent, watchful gaze demanded that he eat something, even if he didn't taste it. After pushing the empty plate away and going back to destroying the newspaper in an effort to occupy his hands, a steaming mug of coffee appeared by his hand. This, too, he drank solely out of obligation, though he declined the shot of whiskey that could have been added to it. Getting Neil drunk was quite the challenge, but he didn't dare push his good luck now.   
  
After close to forty-five minutes, the silence broken my Molly's idle activities in the kitchen and the quiet rips of the newsprint, one of the daughters called for her mother. Both adults looked toward the stairs, but only she moved to return upstairs, her purposeful stride making it abundantly clear to Neil that Jay's interim period was up. His curled instinctively into a fist as he tried to steel himself for the second of who knew how many more spells of pained sobs and screams through which he would be forced to sit idly.   
  
Molly had assured him that the second spell would be easier than the first, but judging by the choked sobs and moaning, there was little difference. Neil tried to distract himself from the sound by turning on the radio, but even turning it up as much as he dared and pressing his ear to the speaker did little to drown it all out, and after a few minutes he gave up. Eventually, solely in the name of keeping his hands busy, he seized the knitting needles and one of his half-finished projects, a new blanket for their bed, from Jay's basket and settled into the chair closest to the wood stove in the corner and forced himself to knit. Between his shaking hands, rapidly fraying nerves and Jay's moaning from just above his head, it was easier said than done.   
  
Neil allowed his vision to tunnel around the needles and stitches in his hand, and although he could still hear everything Jay wailed—he'd gone from begging for the pain to end to slinging foul curses, most of which were directed at the bastard who'd done this to him—quite clearly, he kept his attention solely on his work. To let his mind stray was to consider both the best way ask for a posting to a Scandinavian base and the best way to kill a man without making it clear he was behind it all.   
  
 _Maybe this is why people knit so much_ , he though as he tugged the yarn out of a dropped stitch.  _It's the only thing keeping them sane._


	11. Part Eleven

He'd closed his eyes for a couple minutes, just to relieve the strain of focusing so intently on the knitting in his hand. When he opened his eyes, the room was significantly darker, the wood stove colder and his grip on the needles had loosened considerably—and more telling than all this was the fact that there was a hand on his shoulder. For several moments, he could only blink in confusion, before he realized that the hand was Molly's. He sat up straight, the knitting falling to the floor, and opened his mouth trying to find the words to voice the dozens of questions running through his mind, but no words came out—

She smiled slightly, as though she understood this. "They're both fine," she reassured, her voice soft.

A little of the heavy weight Neil had been carrying on his shoulders lifted away. "What's going on now?" he asked. 

"She's resting," she answered, "though if you want to see her, I'm sure I don't have to tell you to go easy on her." 

"No ma'am," Neil replied quickly, standing. "I take it… she's alone?" 

She nodded. "We're heading home—but if anything changes, don't even think twice about coming to us. Do understand, though—a house call tomorrow morning would no doubt be in their best interest." 

"Of course," Neil agreed quickly, wanting nothing more than to abandon the conversation and go to Jay's side. "Thank you for everything—you'll forgive me if I don't see you to the door?" 

She nodded her understanding before offering Neil soft congratulations and quietly slipped out the front door. Neil watched her go—one, two, three… When he was certain she'd gone he rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time once more, and stopped short of the closed bedroom door. His nerves came rushing back, and he found himself worrying for Jay, for his health and well-being… Still, he had the obligation—more than that, the desire to see Jay again, so he knocked quietly and pushed the door open.

The room was fairly dark, lit by kerosene lamps on the bedside tables and chest of drawers. Part of him felt like, after the high emotion of the day, the room had the still, quiet feel of a funeral wake, and he quickly pushed the thought away as he approached the bed. Most of the blankets that had been on the bed this morning were gone (he could easily imagine why, but chose not to), and the blankets from the spare bedroom and the linen closet had been piled on both the bed and its occupant. 

Neil sat on the edge of the bed and gently tugged back the blankets that had been pulled up to Jay's chin. Even in the dim light it was obvious that his face was pale, but he didn't look any worse for wear—in fact, he looked almost peaceful, sleeping on his side, curled in slightly on himself. 

"Jay," Neil whispered, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Jay shifted slightly under his touch, and after a few moments, he woke. His brow furrowed slightly, but when he looked up at Neil, his expression seemed to soften. "Neil…" He pushed himself up on his elbow, then sat up and leaned forward into Neil's open arms. He'd been dressed in one of his clean nightgowns, and seemed too tired to care about it. 

Neil wrapped his husband in a warm embrace, reaching up to stroke his short hair. "You're okay," he finally murmured. 

"I'm sorry," Jay whispered, burying his face in Neil's neck. "Neil, I'm so sorry." 

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Neil asked, rubbing Jay's back. 

"I… I tried to wait," Jay gasped—he was crying, overwhelmed. "I wanted to hold off as long as I could, until you got home, but the pain got so bad—" 

"Don't apologize for anything," Neil said, gentle but firm. He pulled back slightly to look Jay in the eye. "You did absolutely the right thing—" He pressed a soft kiss to Jay's forehead—"and you're okay now, and it's all over." 

Jay closed his eyes for a moment before informing Neil, "I never want to do that again." 

"You won't," Neil replied. "I promise you won't." 

"Good," Jay pronounced. "Thank you…" 

"Do you want anything?" Neil asked. "Something to eat?"

"I'm too tired to eat," Jay admitted. "Maybe tomorrow, but… some water would be nice, please." 

Neil smiled slightly. All these months and all that pain, and he still only asked for the simplest of things. "Of course," he replied, standing. "I'll be right back." 

Neil returned a few minutes later, glass of water in hand. Jay accepted this with murmured but sincere thanks, and drank deeply from the glass. After a moment, Neil asked quietly, "Is there anything you want to talk about? About what happened?" 

Jay paused to consider the questions before he set the glass on the bedside table. "It hurt a lot more than I thought it would," he admitted. "Because I was so scared." 

Neil bowed his head. "I wanted to come be with you but—"

"I know," Jay cut off, laying his hand on Neil's. "I was begging for you to be let in, but…" 

They were silent, both of them considering everything that had happened over the course of the last several hours, what they could have down differently, not blaming the other but themselves. When Jay spoke next, it was to change the subject. "It's a boy." 

Neil lifted his head at the words. There were so many things to say in response to that, but the only thing that came out was simply, "Oh?" 

"Yeah," Jay confirmed before nodding toward a corner of the room. "He's over there." 

Neil followed Jay's gaze, and was surprised to find the heavy oak cradle that they'd been given when Jay first moved in was set up, tiny mattress and baby blankets and all, standing previously unnoticed in the far corner. "Did the girls move this?" he asked, looking back at Jay. 

The brunet nodded. "While I was sleeping the first time." 

Neil looked at the cradle, then back to Jay. "May I…?" 

"Sure," Jay replied, shifting slightly so that he could lie back down. 

Neil helped him get comfortable before standing, rolling up his shirtsleeves and kicking off his shoes and crossing the room to look into the cradle. Inside was a small infant—unusually small, but his premature birth made that a given—swaddled in the blanket that Neil had knitted. Being very mindful of how very fragile babies were, Neil reached down and lifted the newborn out of the cradle and held him to his chest. The baby drew a small, shuddering breath and wriggled a little in his hold, but settled down in short order, all without waking. 

Neil wordlessly carried the baby back to the bed and sat down next to Jay once more. In the faint light of the kerosene lamp, Neil could see a faint crop of hair, a pale red that would no doubt darken to auburn as he grew, and was certainly not a trait that had come from Jay. 

He didn't mention this as he looked over to Jay, who was watching them, tired but intently. "I'm sorry," Jay mumbled.

"Jay, you have nothing to be sorry for," Neil repeated.

"It's just…" Jay shifted to lie on his side. "I never meant to make this marriage so hard for you, with my problems, and then this…" 

"You didn't make it hard," Neil soothed. "Besides, I would have married you sooner or later." 

"Really?" Jay shook his head. "You're just saying that." 

"I would have," Neil insisted. 

Jay bowed his head, the thin smile and faint blush that touched his face both apparent even in the dim light. "That's nice to know." He looked up and watched Neil readjust the way he held the infant. "…I guess you want to know about him, yeah?" 

Neil looked up from studying the baby's delicately formed features (he looked like he was going to have Jay's nose). "Does he have a name?" 

"Yeah, I… I named him, right after…" Jay admitted. "I hope you don't mind." 

"Of course not," Neil answered. "What's his name?" 

"Alexander. I thought…" Jay shrugged one shoulder. "Well, I like that name." 

"I like it, too," Neil said, smiling down at the sleeping newborn. "Hello, Alexander. It's nice to meet you, finally." 

There was another moment's pause before Jay asked, "Neil?" 

"Yeah, Jay?" 

"I have a question." 

"Sure." Neil adjusted the lay of the blanket wrapped around the baby. 

Jay's next words weren’t accusatory, but were simple and direct. "The whole time you acted like he was yours—you still act like he's yours." 

Neil thought about it for a few moments. When Jay had first told him about the pregnancy, the child he carried was the farthest thing from his mind. Then they married, and grew closer and closer—of course Neil had found himself getting closer to the baby, as well, and of course when he had felt him kicking in Jay's stomach, he'd been thrilled… Maybe he had been acting like the baby was his through flesh and blood, and not just a story. I didn't father him," he said slowly, "but I intend to be his father—if that's okay?" 

Jay smiled slightly at that, then the smile faded as he thought, as well. "…Only if I can be his father too," he said, sliding his hand across the blankets toward Neil.

Neil smiled warmly and took Jay's hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he held Alexander close to his chest. "Of course." 

There were some things Neil didn't understand. He didn't understand Jay's disagreement with the body in which he'd been born. He didn't understand how, of all the people in the world, he fell in love with Jay. He didn't understand the turns in the course of events that brought them to this moment, the fingers of two parents loosely intertwined as they held their infant son. All he understood was this was his family, this was his life, and this was his future—and that if he was given the choice to do it over differently, he would be content to say that what he had now was more than he could ever ask for.


End file.
